


Harold Potter

by NotSteve



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dorculas Mouthful, F/M, Harold Potter - Freeform, Hermit the Creature, Parody, Rahn-dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about a boy lizard named Harold Potter, who lived with his aunt and uncle for most of his life and believed to be an ordinary human. Until Hagrid, a half-giant, half-lizard, half-fairy tells him otherwise. Come join Harold and his friends as they discover new secrets in the tire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, dog, this is Rahn-dog, dog. I'm here to set some things straight, yo. This bitch is a parody, so don't take it too seriously, yo.

Harold couldn’t believe it. Last week he was lying on the couch, believing he would never amount to anything, and now he was on a train to attend a magical school for lizards!  
When he first told his uncle that a half giant, half human, half fairy, came into his room (well, really his box) and told Harold he was taking him to a magical place with lots and lots of magical candy and strange men flicking their wands around, spirting out white magic, he thought Harold was crazy and beat him senseless. But eventually his uncle came around. And Harold just knew his aunt and uncle were as excited about this as he was, for they dropped him off at the train station five days before the train was set to leave.  
“Yo, is this seat taken?” A deep manly voice asked. Harold looked up and saw a huge man hovering over him. He was at least six feet tall, maybe even seven, with luscious dark brown skin. He had thick, shoulder length red hair that reminded Harold of a woman, for some odd reason. He must be a teacher, thought Harold as he shook his head and made room for the man to sit down.  
“Thanks, dog,” the man’s voice roared, “my stupid brothers, yo, wanted me to sit next to them, but, yo, they be turnin’ my rat into a weird lookin ass human,” he motioned to the ugly, brown rat on his shoulder, which had a human toe on its forehead. Two dark skinned rodents came running by and flicked their wands toward the rat, the man glared at them evilly.  
“..Those are your brothers?” Harold asked; the man nodded.  
“Yeah, I have a lot of them, yo,” retorted the man, mindlessly throwing the rat onto Harold’s face. Harold let out a terrified screech that seemed to go unnoticed to the large man as Harold scraped the creature off his face and onto the ground. The rat hissed at Harold and ran out to explore the train. “What ‘bout you, dog?”  
“Oh… I don’t own a dog,” Harold said plainly.  
“No, homie, you got siblings? Ya know, did yo parents do the diggity-do more than diggity-once?”  
Harold felt a tear spill from his left eye as he remembered his uncle telling him how his parents died. (“They were gang members in Topeka Kansas—“which seemed weird to Harold, since they lived in London”—and a mime wearing a toupee, riding a trycicle, hit them with a shovel and they never woke up.”)  
“No,” Harold answered sadly, “unfortunately I don’t.”  
“Yo, dog, I can dig it,” he said, reaching out to shake Harold’s hand. “I’m Rahn Weasel, homie, but everybody calls me Rahn-dog, dog.”  
“Hello… Rahn-dog,” Harold said, trying to ignore the pain rushing through his hand from Rahn’s grip. “I’m Harold. Harold Potter.”  
“Yo, yo, yo,” Rahn yelped, his eyes wide in amazement. Scared that he had said something to offend Rahn, Harold curled up in a ball in fear. “Not the Harold Potter? The kid who killed V-dog with his legit thumb?”  
Harold moved back toward the window as Rahn-dog spasmed in excitement. “W-who is V-dog?”  
“Who is V-dog, dog? Man, he’s only the dopiest of the dopes,” Rhan-dog explained. “But, yo, he ain’t Dumbledore dope, no this hairless homie is some bad news, yo. And you’re the dog that slayed ‘em! Yo, my head is spinning like a yoyo, yo!”  
Harold couldn’t believe it. His aunt and uncle never told him about V-dog, nor had they told him about this magic school for lizards. In fact, Hagrid, that half giant, half human, half fairy guy was the one to mention his parents and how they were lizards too.  
“Yo, that means you got the scar, dog,” Rahn-dog said, slapping Harold’s shoulder so hard that he heard his bone crack. “Dog, you gotta disclose the damage.”  
Of course Harry knew what Rahn-dog was talking about. He’s had that scar ever since he could remember, but no one seemed to notice it. His aunt and uncle sometimes made him cover it up with his hair, but most of the time they let him cover it up with one of his many Spice Girls stickers. His favorite was Scary Spice, which seemed weird to him since he always saw himself with an athletic type, like Sporty Spice.  
With a hesitant hand, he slowly lifted his black curls up to reveal his scar. Two circles sagged beside each other on his forehead with a thick, long shaft between them.  
Rahn-dog, his excitement suddenly vanishing, quickly pulls Harold’s hair back down to cover his scar. “Yo, dog… I don’t think you should be showing anyone that scar, homie.”  
“Oh, okay,” Harold said, taming his wild hair down, a little disappointed that his new friend didn’t like his scar. No one ever seemed to like his scar.  
Suddenly, forgetting his scar, Harold let out a horrified scream as a hideous creature appeared at the doorway. He covered his eyes as if looking at the hideous thing would turn him into stone. “Rahn-dog, I think your brothers messed with your rat again!”  
“DEVIL BEGONOUS,” Rahn-dog shouted, pointing his wand at the creature. “RAT BACKOUS! CREATURE DIEOUS!”  
But no matter how hard he tried, the rat continued to take on this hideous form.  
“Adding ‘ous’ at the end of a word doesn’t automatically make it a spell,” hissed the creature. It made its way into the small room and sat down across from the boys.  
Harold, noticing the creature was nowhere near being ready to leave, forced himself to look at it. It must have attacked an innocent student, for it had a jumper and a black robe around it. That poor girl, Harold thought.  
“Was that your rat crawling around the corridor,” it spoke again. Both Rahn and Harold were terrified. “Really, now, you need to control that thing. It’s scaring the people half to death. Every time I’m near it, people run in terror, yelling ‘hideous beast! Beware the hideous beast’.”  
Harold tried to pay attention to the creature’s words, for it seemed like it was saying something important, but he was too focused on trying not to puke. The thing was hideous, whatever it was. It had the head of what looked like a walrus, only with human skin, and big, crazy hair that occupied most of her face. Her body had the shape of a lizard, so bony and slender. It gave Harold shivers down his spine.  
“I’m Hermit Ghastly by the way,” it spoke, reaching out a long bony hand for the boys to shake. Harold took a moment to stare at the hand before Rhan slapped it away. “So, what House do you think you’ll be put in,” she asked enthusiastically.  
“Houses?” Harold asked, confused, looking at Rhan.  
“Yo, dog, the great Harold Potter doesn’t know what the school’s Houses are?” Rhan said. Harold ignored the creature’s gasp at the hearing of his name. “Yo, yo, I’mma ‘bout to educate you, homie.  
“There are four houses, dog: House Hubabubaboo, House GRAHHHHHH, House Green Mean Killin’ Machines, and House SmartyMcSmartpants. Now my family, the Weasels, have been in House GRAHHHHHH, yo, for generations and generations. That’s the house your homie’s gonna be in, anyway,” he said, high-fiving his new best friend.  
Harold couldn’t help but smile at Rhan-dog. He hoped he was placed in House GRAHHHHHH like Rhan-dog. “Who decides what House you’ll be in,” he asked, almost shamefully. He felt so embarrassed that even the hideous monster across from him knew what Houses were.  
“Yo, dog, they put a giant ass lizard on your head and whatever color it turns in to, that’s the House you belong in,” Rhan-dog explained. “My brothers even told me it sang, homie. Yo, if it be rappin’, I be tappin’.” He began moving side to side, dancing to the beat inside his head.  
Just then a short, little blond creature opened the doors. He mumbled something under his breath while holding out a box of thin mint cookies.  
“What?” Harold said, placing his hand up to his ear.  
“I’m selling cookies, for my wizard scouts,” explained the little boy shyly, but loud enough to be understood. “Would you like to buy some? They’re cheap.”  
“Yo, yo, dog,” Rahn-dog said offensively, standing up, towering over the little boy. “You making fun of me because my daddy ain’t got a job? And he spends his days rummaging through muggle garbage instead of feeding his kids?”  
“No,” said the boy weakly, “my dad just suggested that I try to sell these on the train ride to school. I’m sorry, I didn’t—“  
“Get out of here with that shit,” Rahn-dog said, pushing the boy into the corridor and sliding the door shut. “Dog, if somebody brings up that I’m poor one more time, yo, I’m gonna shove my hand so far up their ass…”  
“Who was that?” Harold asked, rubbing Rahn-dog’s back to attempt to calm him.  
“Dorculas Mouthful,” he said darkly, “of the Mouthful family. That family is no good, homie. It’s better if you stay away from them, dog.”  
“Right,” Harold said with a stern nod. Harold thought himself lucky to have found such great lizards to help him understand this new world he was about to enter.  
It was night when the train finally came to a stop and all the students left to enter this giant tire (I accidently typed tire instead of tower so I’m just gonna roll with it). It was absolutely massive and a bit shocking. Harold had imagined the school to be in some sort of ancient castle, with magic stares and talking paintings, but no, it was just a big ass tire.  
He entered the tire with Rahn-dog, with that Hermit the Creature lurking close behind. Inside the tire was a great hall with millions of students each sitting at four foldable white tables. Hagrid led Harold and the rest of the first years to the end of the great hall where a lady in a tall pointy hat stood holding up a lizard.  
“When I call your name,” the lady spoke, she snapped her free fingers and a piece of paper stood hovering before her, “I will put this lizard on your head, he will pee on you and sort you into your house, as tradition goes, yadda yadda yadda. We good here?”  
The first years nodded their heads in understanding as she read out the names of the students. Dear Lord, please put me into House GRAHHHHHH with Rahn-dog and his family, Harold thought.  
 _Well, damn, Harold… You haven’t spoken to me in years and this is what you’re praying for?_  
Harold looked around. Nobody seemed to hear the voice he was hearing. The teacher had just assigned Hermit the Creature into House GRAHHHHHH, and the children screamed in fear as it made its way to their table. Who was that?  
 _Your dumb ass lookin’ self can’t even tell that I’m the voice of God._  
The voice of God? Really? You sound weird, though.  
 _Who were you expecting? Morgan Freeman?_  
Well, yeah, kinda.  
 _Everybody expects Morgan Freeman._  
Well, anyway… I would really appreciate it if you could put me in House GRAHHHHHH with my friend Rahn-dog.  
 _WHAT THE FUCK, MAN? There are children praying to get a new kidney or to get that tumor out of their head… there are people praying to get out of poverty, praying just to keep themselves alive… and you want me to put you the House your little friend is in?_  
Yeah…  
 _Fuck you._  
“Harold Poller,” announced the lady with the lizard. “Is there a Harold Poller here? Harold Poller?” She looked at the list again. “Ah, shit I mean Harold Potter. Harold Potter.”  
The children behind him began to whisper his name as he made his way up to the lizard. He turned to see that the staff table were also whispering his name.  
“Shut your shit, dearies,” said the lady calmly as she placed the lizard on Harold’s head.  
The lizard did the traditional peeing before pondering over which house this boy should be placed.  
“Letsssssss Seeeeeeee,” it spoke on top of Harold’s head. “You’re too ssssstupid for House SssssmartyMcsssssmartpantssss. And you a lil bitch, ssssso that rulesssss out Houssssse Hubabubaboo.”  
Oh God, help me now!  
 _Fuck off, Harold._  
“Please,” Harold begged to the lizard, “please put me in House GRAHHHHHH!”  
“Housssssse GRAHHHHHH, you sssssay? What about Housssssse Green Mean Killin Massschinesssss? That’s a nicccee house.”  
“Please, House GRAHHHHHH,” he whispered. “House GRAHHHHHH!”  
“Okay, Housssssssssssssssssseeeeeeee,” the entire room froze as they waited for the lizard to choose Harold’s fate, “GRAHHHHHH it issss then.”  
The entire House GRAHHHHHH table cheered as Harold let out a breath of relief as he made his way to his table.  
As he sat down he was greeted by some nerd who claimed to be Rahn-dog’s older brother. Percy, he said his name was. Harold could just tell he wasn’t going to like this ginger freak. We’re going to have problems when it comes down to trusting what Dumbledore has to say and what the Lizard government has to say, he thought. Hashtag trust Dumbledore. Always.  
As Rahn-dog, a newly selected member of House GAHHHHHH, made his way over to sit next to his new best friend, Harold felt an uncomfortable presence. He turned to the staff table. An old man, with a long silver beard and twinkling eyes, had been staring at him. He wore a lavishly blue dress that dipped low enough in the front to reveal his old man chest hairs. Harold could tell by how much shoulder the dress revealed that his back was free from any fabric, as well. The dress sparkled a certain silver—the same color as his beautiful beard—as the old man moved. His perfectly manicured hand moved to take hold of his wine glass and, with a nod in Harold’s direction, took a long sip.  
“That there is Dumbledore,” Rahn-dog explained, noticing who Harold was looking at, “the greatest Lizard of all time.”  
“I hear that he dated a certain Grindelwald, but broke up with him because he wouldn’t go down on him,” Hermit contributed.  
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, HERMIT THE CREATURE,” Rahn-dog said calmly. “NO ONE TOLD YOU TO BE A LITTLE BITCH, YO!”  
Hermit the Creature ran away quickly, crying into her hair.  
“That wasn’t very nice,” Harold said to Rahn, as he watched Hermit the Creature cry away. He turned back to the staff table. “Who’s the lady with the lizard?”  
“That’s professor Mcgonagone, yo” Rahn-dog told him. “Homie, I hear she is the coolest teach there is, ya here.”  
“And what about the pale, greasy, mysterious guy who keeps looking at my eyes?”  
“That’s Snape, dog. He treats everybody but the Mean Green Killin’ Machine House like shit, yo,” Rahn-dog explained. “He used to be cool, until some dude stole his girl. Now he harasses anyone in his presence, dog.”  
“I’d hate to be the kid who looks like the guy who stole his girl, am I right,” he jokingly said to his friend. They shared a laugh as Dumbldore rose from his chair.  
“Welcome, young lizards, to the school of lizardry and bitchcraft,” Dumbledore began. The hall went quiet. “Firstly, this is a message mostly for the first years, the forbidden forest is completely free for any student to enter. Of course, if you do, you will die a very exciting death. So I recommend it.  
“Then there’s the matter of the Defense against the Dark Arts professor. Those of you who are aware, the Dark Arts are no laughing matter. It involves S &M, BDSM, and all the very dangerous things that are involved in the art of loving. As most of you are aware, ever since I denied V-dog a job here at this lovely school, all of the professors teaching the Dark Arts have died. So I would like to introduce our new Dark Arts professor…. Snape.” The students all looked around confused as the Mean Green Killin’ machines cheered. Snape stood up and took a delightful bow. “Haha, just kidding,” Dumbledore said as he used magic to push Snape back into his chair. “Could you imagine? Snape as your Dark Arts teacher? Wait, like, six years, then maybe I’ll do it. Anyway, Quirrell, stand up. This will be your new Dark Arts teacher… I look forward to your funeral, Quirrell.  
“Anyway, eat up.” He clapped his hands together and a bowl of tomato soup and some crackers appeared in front of each student. He sat back down and everyone began their meal.  
After everyone finished their soup, everyone got a pudding cup. Then Dumbledore ordered the house elves to clear the table. The students had to fold their tables and stack their chairs in order to make room for sleeping. Each House got its own section of the tire. House GRAHHHHHH was on the far right. Harold and Rahn-dog found a nice place to put their sleeping bags beside each other.  
“So, we’re actually sleeping in the inside of a giant tire,” Harold observed as he and the rest of the school we’re dozing off.  
“Yeah, winter’s a bitch,” Dumbledore called out from somewhere in the crowd of sleeping bags.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Hagrid woke everyone up at the crack of dawn with his loud dragon horn. The students set their tables and sat down to enjoy some oatmeal for breakfast. Then the heads of the houses passed out the schedule for this school year. The GRAHHHHHH first years had Snape for the first hour with House Mean Green Killin Machines, much to Rahn-dog’s dismay. The students all made their way to a certain part of the tire to attend their classes.  
“Welcome, class,” a deep voice spoke from the shadows. Slowly, Snape creeped his way to the front of the classroom. “I am the notorious Professor Severus Snape,” he said, sliding his hands up and down his chest seductively, “and this is poetry 101.”  
“I thought this was potions?” a chubby, round faced boy asked.  
“Why the fuck would there be potions if this is a fucking school for lizards, dumbass,” Snape snapped as he pulled a poetry book out of his desk. “You know what, Roundbottom,” he looked at the young boy, “I don’t like your face. Get out of my classroom.”  
“But… we’re in a tire, sir,” defended Roundbottom. Snape punched Roundbottom right in the nose, making the young boy fall to the ground.  
Dumbledore, who was just a few inches away from Snape, teaching a class of third years how to dougie, overheard this conversation. Today, Dumbledore was wearing a casual pink sweater and a matching skirt. Harold had to give it to the old man, Dumbledore rocked those high heels. “WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM,” he asked calmly.  
“Nothing, sir,” said Snape innocently, pulling Roundbottom off the ground. The boy’s face splattered with blood, it was oozing out. It dripped like a waterfall onto the ground below the boy.  
“Oh, goody,” Dumbledore said, smiling at the boy. “Neville, I must say, you look different from the last time I saw you. Did you change your hair?”  
“No, sir,” Neville said weakly. His legs were shaking in discomfort as Dumbledore continued to study him. Blood continued to ooze out of him like he was in some gory horror movie.  
“I’ll figure it out eventually,” Dumbledore told him before turning his heel back to the third years he was teaching.  
Snape casually threw Neville Roundbottom out of the tire and onto the cold, hard ground of outside. “Like I was saying, students,” he began again, “welcome to Poetry 101. I will teach you the art of emotions,” he said, striking a pose. “We will learn all about Emily Dickinson—“  
“What about Robert Frost,” Hermit the Creature raised its hand enthusiastically.   
Snape let out a horrified shriek as he took out his fly swatter and attempted to slap the beast away. The creature screamed in pain as it made its way out of the tire where Roundbottom lay passed out.   
“Sir, that was a student you just attacked,” Dorculas Mouthful spoke shyly. “She isn’t much in looks, but she has a very beautiful personality, I’m sure.”  
“Shut the fuck up, Mouthful,” Rahn-dog screamed, throwing a book at Dorculas.   
“I know that, Mr. Mouthful,” Snape stated, “I just fucking hate Robert Frost.”  
“Yeah, he did freeze all those people,” Rahn-dog said plainly. Snape looked at the camera like he was in The Office.   
“Your first assignment is to write a poem,” Snape said. “You can write about anything you want. If I like it, you will pass. If it’s shit, you’re shit. I will give you an example of what I am looking for in a poem.” He opened his poetry book. “Here’s a little something I’ve been working on,” he cleared his throat. “If you’re a musician and you want to convert it into song, just ask me and we’ll work something out. Because it’s, like, really song worthy, I’m positive. Seriously, talk to me after class if you play the guitar—“he looked at Harold Freakin’ Potter”—and, don’t worry, I’ll provide the vocals.”

My heart broke in two  
When I met you-know-who

You wanted me to stay the same  
But I needed to change  
When he met you he thought of me as lame  
So I made this exchange

I sold my soul for him  
Yet you were the one who died because of him

A tear dropped from his eye and rolled down his cheek. “You will recite your poem at the end of class. This will be your first grade of the semester… so make it count.”  
Everyone began working hard on their poems. Eventually Professor Mcgonagone discovered Hermit and Roundbottom outside of the tire and returned them back to Snape, after healing Roundbottom’s wounds. They, too, began working on their poems.  
“Time’s up,” finally said Snape. The Lizard students put their pencil’s down and waited for Snape’s instructions. “Who would like to go first?” Hermit was the only one who raised its hand. “Anyone? Anyone at all?” Hermit wiggled its hand in front of Snape. “No? Okay, Roundbottom, you’re up.”  
Roundbottom hesitantly stood from his chair and made his way to the center of the tire. He cleared his throat and began: “She doesn’t understand that I am her son, but some—“  
“Fail!” Snape said, taking out a bag of Cheetos. “Crabbe, begin your poem,” he said with his mouth full of Cheetos.  
The big, puffy boy, sitting next to Muthful, stood up and presented his poem: “I like snakes, yes I do. I like snakes, how ‘bout you?”  
Snape applauded, along with the Mean Green Killin’ Machines students. “Wonderful, Mr. Crabbe! Wonderful metaphor for how the government controls us. Beautiful! Ten points to you! Just beautiful.”  
Crabbe’s puffy cheeks turned red as he bowed slightly, then sat back down.  
“Okay, Rahn-dog, you’re next,” said Snape, crushing his now empty Cheeto bag and throwing it at Roundbottom.  
Rahn-dog stood and walked to the center of the class. He cleared his throat and began: “Shawty had them apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was looking at her—“  
“Honestly, Mr. Weasel, you don’t think I don’t know that song? I was there, grinding it with the ladies from Beauxbatons, when Flo Rida dropped that shit onto the world.” He said, gesturing for Rahn-dog to sit back down. “I should have known you would do something like this; last year your brothers tried to fool me with Kanye.  
“Potter,” Snape growled, looking deep into Harold’s eyes, “please recite your poem.”  
“I never knew you, mom and dad,” Harold said, “but the Dursley’s raised me as quite the charming lad—“   
“FAIL FOR INACCUARACY,” Snape said calmly. Severus took out his lizard wand—a beautiful, red headed lizard with green eyes—and white magic spirt out from it, splashing Harold in the face. “Sit down, Potter!”  
The next to go was Dorculas. He wrote a beautiful poem about a snake and a lion, who once were enemies, slowly becoming friends, even though there are many barriers keeping them apart. “Wonderful foreshadowing, Mr. Mouthful,” Snape had told him after he’d finished. After Dorculas, Hermit the Creature recited a poem about an ugly creature who found love inside itself, or something like that. No one was really listening.   
Dumbledore eventually gave up on the third years (they could never achieve the Beyonce level of dancing like Dumbledore has) and called for the students to move to the next class.   
Harold looked at the schedule Professor Mcgonagone gave him. “Let’s see, next we have Professor Clint,” he said, turning to Rahn-dog.  
“Yo, dog, who the hippity-doo is that? My brother’s ain’t mention no Clint, dog!”  
“He is my lover, Rahn-dog,” Dumbledore said, standing behind the two boys. “Every night we sneak out into the forest and make sweet, sweet love and he will be your new professor this year.”  
Harold, looking at his schedule, asks: “What does he teach?”  
“He teaches me to forget, Harold, about all wrongs I’ve done in my lifetime. He teaches me that it’s okay to forgive your backstabbing, son-of-a-bitch of an ex-boyfriend—I DUMPED HIM, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, LIKE PEOPLE SAY. And he teaches me a lot of stuff in the bedroom. I’m a bottom, you know.”  
“No, sir… I mean, what does he teach in the classroom?” Harold said  
“Oh, yes, of course,” Dumbledore said, embarrassed. His cheeks turned a rosy color and he held his hand up to his mouth. “I have no fucking idea, Harold. Get to class.”  
Harold and Rahn-dog, with Hermit slithering behind them, quickly caught up with their fellow first years to attend their next class. A tall, handsome man, with dark, luscious skin, similar to Rahn-dog’s skin, stood before the students. “Welcome, kids,” he said with a sincere smile. “I’m Professor Clint Jones, but please feel free to call me Clint. I’ll be teaching you basic math, which includes fractions and long division and all that boring stuff. Now I know math can be difficult for most of you, but don’t worry, we’ll get through this together,” he said with a warm smile.   
Harold smiled. It was nice to see someone normal in all this crazy, even if he loved every crazy part of this world.   
Clint’s butt made a small, squeaking noise and everybody laughed. “Excuse me,” Clint said, gripping his butt. “I’m sorry, I had taco bell for breakfast. Now moving on, I’ll begin passing out the syllabus.”  
The next hour went by fast, Harold thought. They spent the time to get to know each other. Clint told them all about his life in the circus, where he trained dolphins to do taxes, and how he left the business to follow his dream of being a math teacher. Then he made the students come to the front and tell a little bit about themselves. Clint seemed very interested about Harold’s life with his aunt and uncle and how he discovered he was a lizard only a few weeks before school started.   
During lunch, all the first years were talking about Clint. It seemed weird to Harold, to actually be excited for basic math, but that’s all he and the other kids could talk about. The only student who didn’t seem excited about it was Hermit the Creature.  
“Something’s not right about that strange, strange man,” it roared.  
“Yo, you just jealous that he got a pretty face, dog,” Rahn-dog told her.  
“Rahn, his butt sneezed,” it said with a horrified expression.  
“YO! YO,YO! It’s Rahn-dog,” he corrected. “And that fart just showed us that he’s only human, like the rest of us.”  
“Well, I’m going to the library to check if farts actually sound like sneezes,” it said, standing up.  
“Excuse me,” a soft voice behind Hermit the Creature said, “I didn’t mean listen in on your conversation, but we don’t have a library, I’m sorry. We have magazines, but most of them are issues from Boyz Weekly. My father has tried to get a library in this tire since he was a boy here, but unfortunately they’re budget goes into sports.”   
“Sweet!” Harold said, high-fiving Rahn-dog.   
“Then how do we learn anything,” Hermit the Creature screeched, her hands trembling in fear and disappointment.   
“We don’t,” Harold said simply.   
“I think my library back home has a few books on sneeze farts,” Dorculas said. “If you want, I can have my father send them to me.”  
“That would be lovely,” Hermit the Creature said. Her long, red tongue slithered out, before she slurped it back in, and placed a nice dry kiss on Mouthful’s cheek. Dorculas blushed.   
Harold felt a rage of jealousy in his chest. His right arm stung with pain and he fell to the ground with one giant burp. No, this wasn’t jealousy. He was having a heart attack. Harold’s eyes were watery, he could barely see Rahn-dog by his side, trying to kiss him better. Then he heard Dumbledore yell something, something Harold has never heard yelled before (“Ah shit, the Ministry of Lizards is gonna be all over this!”). His eyes began to close and a sound of a woman in horrible, horrible pain, like she was dying or something, soothed him as he fell into a deep sleep.


End file.
